Fanfic
by sandymg
Summary: The boys get caught in strange, new worlds. Dean may need years of therapy. Sam will just deny anything ever happened. One-Shot. Crack.


**Title****: **Fanfic  
**Author: **sandymg  
**Beta**: borgmama1of5  
**Summary**: The boys get caught in _our_ world. Dean may need years of therapy. Sam will just deny anything ever happened.  
**Spoilers****: **Set in Season 5  
**Genre****: **Gen, Crack  
**Characters****: **Dean, Sam, others  
**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke – who'd best treat them well  
**A/N**: Teasing is love

**Fanfic**

"Dude, there's a smudge on your face."

Sam automatically reached up and started fingering his chin. "Where?"

Dean moved closer, looked up. "There, side of your … _huh_ …"

"What is it?"

"Looks like letters."

Sam popped into the motel bathroom, leaned down to see his face in the mirror – never were hung high enough … "Huh."

From the other room he heard Dean call out, "Fall asleep on a newspaper?"

But Sam was watching the words on his cheek move. Like one of those ticker signs over Times Square in New York, the letters were forming words, forming sentences … "DEAN!"

Heart accelerating at his brother's alarmed cry, Dean rushed in. "What?" Dean stopped short as he saw the parade of words moving gracefully over Sam's face. _What the?_ Okay, slow down, stop. He stooped down and starting feeling under the sink for hex bags. Witch. Most likely.

Sam understood what Dean was doing and wanted to join him, except the sentences were starting to pull together now and were telling a _story_. He touched his brother's shoulder. "Dean."

"Yeah, I'm on it. I'll go look by the beds."

"No. Dean, stop … look."

Dean straightened up, saw his face in the mirror behind by Sam's freakishly wide shoulders. Damn. Letters had started to materialize across his forehead like tattoos, coming to life slowly as if the ink were rising up from inside his skull, oozing to the surface to form these perfect little swirls. This can't be good.

Sam met Dean's eyes in the mirror and without another word they returned to the bedroom and started ransacking it., They needed to find the damn hex bag and make this literary parade stop creeping all over their bodies.

" 'S your fault," Dean griped, head twisted under the bed.

"What?!"

"Always reading when you were a kid. Like that dude said, 'Read too much and soon you start getting ideas, and thinking ...' "

Sam sighed. Blinked. Did Dean just quote a Disney cartoon? He shook it off. When didn't Dean think something was his fault? Something blurred in front of his eyes and suddenly the letters, words, were floating off his skin and surrounding him, enveloping him. "DEAN!"

"They're movin'," Dean called back.

"I see that. Hold still."

Dean tried to spot his brother through the swarm of black. He swatted at the floating words and thought he saw his name and then Sam's and then odd letters like H/C. Suddenly the room shifted and got cold, so cold … he was shivering, trembling. A concerned voice said, "I got you."

Sam laid Dean down on the bed. This wasn't the same room, which really was going to make looking for those hex bags rather difficult … assuming this was a witch. Sam was starting to have his doubts because this was growing way too elaborate for anything as mundane as a witch. No, not a witch … "Gabriel, you bastard – I am done with your nonsense. I've learned every lesson I'm ever going to learn from you, you hear me? Let us out of here, now."

Silence answered him. Well, silence and Dean's wheezy breathing. He touched his brother's forehead. Sizzling. _What the?_ He rose to see if their stuff had morphed into this room with them. Sam spotted his duffel and rummaged for the Tylenol. Why did Dean suddenly have a fever? This reminded him of that time they both caught the flu, one after the other, and had been holed up in that sorry excuse for a room for two weeks in Kentucky. Why would the crazy archangel want to have them relive that?

Dean tried to raise his head but someone must have been sitting on it because it wouldn't budge. His tongue felt swollen and filled his mouth in an obscene manner. Goose bumps formed on his arms as the chill raced up and down his spine. Come to think of it, whatever was sitting on his head must be draped over his entire body … either that or he'd been transported to another planet with way heavier gravity than Earth's.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam approaching with a glass of water. His vision swirled with more writing … _**Sam ran the wet washcloth gently across his big brother's torso, desperate to cool the burning skin. **_Shit. He'd seen that before. Someplace. But his head was mush, couldn't think.

"Swallow these down, c'mon. Not sure what's happening but the fever feels real, Dean."

He held Dean's head up as he placed the pills in his brother's mouth and tilted the glass so the water pushed them down. Sam batted absently at the damn words as they floated around him again. Snippets came through. _**You've always been there for me, let me take care of you.**_ Sappy, tripe sentiments assaulted him as he fought to clear his head, figure out what the Trickster wanted from them before something else went wrong.

"Stories …"

He looked down at Dean. "What?"

" 'S those stories. 'Bout us."

Sam's eyes widened. Becky. The crazy fans. They couldn't be … He looked at Dean, sweating, shuddering. It wasn't make believe for Dean, that much was certain. And even in his fevered state, Dean had managed to figure out the source of the words. Another tremor shook Dean's body. He hated seeing Dean this way._ Damn Gabriel!_ Detested that smug little man more than he could say. Sam would never forgive the Trickster for the hell of watching Dean die one hundred and one times. Not to mention the magical television tour. And Dean always seemed to get hurt. Getting shot in that hospital soap. That bullet was real, dammit. Of course getting kicked in the nuts hadn't been a picnic either. Not to mention there was still motor oil coming out of places he didn't want to think about.

Words tickered by … _**Sam tried to absorb his brother's tremors into himself, his need to protect, to shelter, to make it better, was just as great as Dean's, only Dean never knew it, never allowed it. Only like this could Sam just love.**_ Oh for crap's sake. He hoped Dean was out of it enough not to have to read this because it would make him hurl, likely all over Sam.

"Hey Sammy." Dean looked up woozily at Sam's slightly twisted lips. Sam looked mad. Had he done something wrong? Kid was always mad about something these days it seemed. There were these black marks floating around all over the place. They looked like little dancing girls. He'd always wished he could go see the Rockettes one day. All those chicks kicking together. Be cool. Sam walked away, face solemn, and returned with a washcloth. Touch of cool on his forehead felt good. Dad would do this when he was little and got sick. He musta caught a nasty bug. Sam kept looking at him funny but it was hard to see clearly through all the pretty swirls.

Sam looked up and Dean heard his brother shout, "What do you want?"

He tried to capture Sam's attention, pulled on his sleeve lightly but his fingers seemed like they'd forgotten how to cooperate. "Nuthin' Sam … Don't need … Can go if you want. Don't need to stay here …"

"Shut up," Sam answered. "Wasn't talking to … I'm not going anywhere."

"Sorry, Sammy …"

Sam just stared down at him steadily. Picked up the wash cloth and turned it back to the cool side before replacing it back on his forehead.

The room whooshed like water running down a drain, only muddy and stained, like ink puddling away, and a new set of words manifested. Sam thought, good, maybe that would mean Dean's fever would break. Only the new words weren't about them, they were about other people named Jensen something and …

Dean felt like he'd been splashed with ice water, every nerve ending at attention. This wasn't a motel room … looked like a bedroom in a house. Maybe in a basement, with windows high up on the walls. He rose from the bed and looked around carefully. Dark wood paneling … old fashioned … like a 1970s flashback. A moan startled him and he spun back to gape at the figure lying on the bed. Was his brother … only younger. Eighteen maybe. And … and _naked_.

"Jen, watcha doin'? Come on back."

He looked down suddenly and _oh God_ he was naked and … _happy_. What the hell?

"Sam … something is really wrong." He spotted briefs on the ground, scrambled into them.

"Why are you … ? What's the matter? You're not gonna wig on me again, are you? I thought we got past all that. My parents won't be home for hours, man. Nobody will know."

The words appeared again moving diagonally across the room. The younger version of his brother didn't seem to notice them and still wasn't getting goddamn dressed. "Put something on," he barked.

Sam looked hurt but stood abruptly and pulled on his jeans. Dean found what he figured were his clothes, immediately feeling better when covered up. A hand touched his shoulder, spun him around, lips mashing into his before he could utter a breath.

"Jen, god, man … I love you. Don't do this."

Dean pulled back hard, hand reaching to swipe at his lips, eyes locked with someone … because it really didn't feel like Sam was in there anymore. Behind Sam more sentences drifted. _**Jared stared into the other boy's emerald green eyes and knew that if he didn't have him soon he'd self-combust. They kept circling each other, skirted the edge, first one then the other, getting closer each time, only for Jensen to always pull away at the last minute. Fear of his father's reaction strangling him, not letting him acknowledge his real feelings for Jared. **_Dad? How was this about … And who were Jared and Jensen and why did Sam think they were these other people?

"You're scaring me, man." Teenage Not-Sam touched his forehead, still standing way too close. "You're a little warm. Maybe you're getting a fever."

Dean shook his head. "Just got over one. So, um, Jared … I think the fever has me confused. Are we … brothers?" Dean took a step back.

Jared-Sam stared at him shocked. "What? Please don't do this. Thought we got past that … I don't love you as just a friend. It's so much more … I thought you wanted this, too." He nodded toward the very disheveled bed. "I'll do whatever you want. You can be top next time … It's okay with me. All of its okay." He grabbed Dean again, murmured in his ear, "God, I love you, I want you …"

Dean felt sick.

Behind Sam … Jared … whoever this very horny teenager was, sentences unfolded. Very explicit sentences about what was supposed to happen next and they all included exchanging body fluids and really he was going to be sick.

He extricated himself from Sam's grip. "Sam … Sammy, please … snap out of it. You're not Jared … We're not … we _can't_ …"

Dean'd forgotten how his younger brother's eyes could get when they were crushed. Been a long time since he'd seen him this way. Well, he'd _never_ seen him this way, but the point was the same. "Don't you love me?" Sammy croaked through a throat that sounded like someone was squeezing it.

Such a naked question. Dean took in this boy's pleading, broken gaze. Wasn't Sammy. Didn't need his big brother. Yet … same eyes, recently also hurting, also pleading. "Yeah, I love you." He shut his eyes and forced the floating words to part, let him go, let them out.

Sam was wrapped in newsprint without the paper. Memories hit him of … A gay teenage romance novel starring himself and Dean – only not. A few more moments and he would have had to burn his eyes out. He tried to pay attention to the new tale, see if these clues could shed any light on what the game ultimately was about because all this flitting around was making him dizzy. He hadn't really just done what he was remembering with his brother, had he? The world spun.

Sam looked up at his brother. Now that hadn't happened in a really long time. Worse, he looked down at himself. Chubby. _Oh for fuck's sake, Gabriel did you have to turn me twelve? _

"Dean … I think … we aren't … "

Dean looked down at him. "Sam? Sammy that really you? You're not that other guy any longer?"

Sam thought the less said about what had just transpired the better and ignoring Dean, concentrated on the new phrases as they passed. As long as his mind was clear he stood a chance. Once the story absorbed him, it was much harder. _**TeenChesters**_. Oh, for god's sake! Really, these people needed to get lives. Their own, preferably. _**Why didn't Dad ever let Sammy go along on hunts? He let Dean. Perfect son Dean. But he stopped himself because it wasn't his brother's fault. Besides lately he'd been wondering if maybe there was more to life than Dad realized. Questions that scared him because if he answered them it would change everything.**_

"You really … already, you were thinking this?" Dean asked, clearly having just read the same thing.

"What? No. I mean. Stop that. We can't let ourselves fall into the Trickster's head games. That's all this is, you know, another elaborate game so that he can get his jolly's watching me …"

Dean watched the squeaky voice of his little brother rise in desperation. Gabriel got to Sam. He knew that whatever went on during that time when Sam said that the Trickster had killed Dean repeatedly … well, it left something behind in Sam's eyes that Dean wished would go away but never fully did.

With foreboding he looked around. A sign caught his eye. "Sammy, look, Milligan's Drugs. We're in California." He peered up at the crystal blue sky. "Remember, Sammy?"

Sam had these images of time on a beach and Dad … Paragraphs fluttered down and Sam absorbed as much as he could.

Dean interrupted. "Do you think we'll see Dad?" he asked, voice eager.

Sam shuddered and tugged his teenage brother's sleeve. "Dean. We can't stay here. I read some of this story. It's not us. We never … Dad isn't Dad … he does things. Oh god … do you remember Max, whose father got drunk and beat him … And I said, thank god Dad wasn't like that?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"This story turns Dad into someone like that. Worse. We really have to get out of here."

Dean saw the fear in his little brother's eyes and felt his gut tighten. His present body was as slight as a girl's, and Sammy was tiny. Well, not counting the baby fat – but really that was always adorable … so much fun teasing him ... But he had to protect Sammy -- from their own father? He'd seen words pass by quick but hadn't been able to pick up enough to understand. Just too weird being sixteen thing again, right after … but no, would not go there. Not now. Scratch that. Not ever.

"What are you two boys doing just standing there … didn't I ask you to meet me in five minutes?!"

Sammy grabbed Dean's hand. The man in front of them looked like Dad but his eyes were colder than a demon's and they were staring at Dean in a way that made Sam's stomach clench. _**John shoved Dean hard until he landed on his stomach on the bed. **_**Sorry, please, sir**_**. The hardened man didn't listen, could no longer hear something as simple as a plea. His belt was off and his hands were pulling Dean's jean's down in one hard yank.**_

Sam thought he'd scream with frustration at his lack of size. His height, his muscles, gone, the impotence of being twelve again tearing at him. As always, Dean had already positioned himself in front of Sam, shielding him with his body. But this Dean was no match for John Winchester, ex-Marine corporal and tough-as-nails hunter. He'd never be able to take him. Of course, he'd never had to try. This was wrong and Sam wasn't about to let Dean get beaten by Dad.

Dean stood straight and put the weight of his mental years into his voice. "Sorry, sir. We didn't mean to keep you waiting. Let's go, Sam." He pulled Sam's hand and walked behind their dad who was stomping toward the Impala.

Sam whispered up at him, "We can't get in that car."

Dean sensed his brother's panic but was fighting his own emotions … that was Dad … alive, young … and different. None of this was real, he reminded himself. Just that little archangel Napoleon's idea of a Saturday matinee. Probably popcorn on his lap as he watched them twist. Dean weighed the options. They could run. The back of the man in front of them was sturdy, strong. _Dad_. The desire to run to him gripped his heart like a vise. He was so tired. How could one hug hurt? Sammy's death grip on his hand snapped him out of his musings. That wasn't Dad. Even without having read whatever tale they'd fallen into he'd have known that by the ice in the other man's eyes. The only time his father had looked at him that way was when the yellow-eyed bastard possessed him.

Dean leaned down to whisper to Sam. "Maybe that's not Dad. Maybe he's possessed. We could try holy water."

Sam shook his head. He could see the pleading in his brother's eyes, the need to save … who didn't Dean want to save? What he'd read didn't mention any demons. Well, no supernatural one's in any case. Someone read that line about Max in one of Chuck's stupid books and went to town on some sort of alternate reality story. He hadn't gotten past the part where it looked like his brother was about to get a beating … but, there was something about the way their father was described … _**John's eyes took in his son's firm, round ass and pictured the delicious marks he'd be leaving behind, criss-crossing like tracks all pointing to the same dark tunnel**_ … Sam shut his eyes. He would kill his father before letting … "Dean, no. We have to get away from him. Now."

The Impala was before them and John slid into the driver's seat. Dean met Sammy's eyes a moment. Was weird to see such an adult look coming out of such a small face. But Sam looked … was more than fear. Was a look Dean didn't remember seeing for a long time. Dean glanced at the Impala. Home. And Dad. Squeezing his brother's hand they took off in a run.

Their father was out of the car and chasing them … Dean heard the pounding steps of his father's boots hitting the pavement. This wasn't going to work, they weren't fast enough, didn't stand a chance.

A hand grabbed Dean's shoulder, spun him around. "Where the hell do you think you're going, boy? What the fuck is wrong with you two today?"

Sammy let go of Dean's hand, scrambled in front of him. "You're not touching him! Do you hear me. Never again do you touch him!"

John scowled and shoved Sam aside. John's voice was low and vicious. "Don't know what's gotten into you boys but I'm through playing. We're gonna have some words when we get home."

Sam looked up at Dean who was standing ramrod straight. At attention. Old habits die hard and Dean always listened to Dad. Followed orders. Sam saw what looked suspiciously close to tears in Dean's eyes and that was it. He rose to his nearly five foot height and told his father to fuck off.

The backhand across his cheek stung so hard he fell. Then the world erupted as Dean swung his fist and knocked John to the ground. John's boot swung up, caught Dean in the stomach, bringing him to his knees, and they were rolling on the ground, hands at each other's throats and Sam blinked through the remaining stars. He'd never imagined he'd see the day Dean would strike their father but the stars were getting darker, new shapes in a maelstrom of black on white on nothing and they were in a cabin surrounded by trees and dappled sunshine and Cas and his brother were _kissing?_

Dean swore. He'd been here before. Camp Chitaqua. Never wanted to be here again. He wondered if their assumption had been wrong. Maybe this wasn't Gabe's game after all. Could be Zach. Hell, could even be Lucifer. At this Dean started to look around for Sam. After a moment he caught sight of the tall form walking shakily down the steps of what Dean remembered to be Cas's cabin.

Sam spotted him and turned around briefly to eye the cabin before turning back to him. He ran over.

"Dean?"

"The one and only. Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

"But you're … in there … with … with Cas."

"Yeah, about that … Welcome to 2014 … I think. This is where Zach sent me when he wanted me to see what happens if I keep saying no to Michael. And if it is the same place then we'd better get ourselves out of sight before that dick spots us."

"Who? Zachariah?"

"No. Me. C'mon, over here."

They ducked into a storage area and behind a stack of boxes. The words started swarming through the air doing their intricate dance. Dean made a point to try to decipher as much as possible this time. His eyes caught one phrase. _**Dean's tongue snaked its way into Cas's mouth causing the former angel to shiver with unbridled pleasure as he pulled Dean's head closer to him and began his own exploration of his lover's lush lips.**_

_What the fuck?_ He reddened as Sam's eyes caught his, amused. "It's a slash story, Dean."

"Wh … at?"

"Um … a male-male pairing."

"How do you know … _what?!"_

Sam laughed outright now. The sound was achingly familiar and Dean realized it had been a really long time since he'd heard Sam's laugh. And if he wasn't about to vomit on the spot he might even have joined in. "Someone wrote a story about you and Cas," Sam volunteered. "I saw you two … in Cas's cabin, kissing."

"What?"

"You keep saying that."

"This is sick, man. Of all the … dude, just kill me over and over again why don't you? Be better."

Sam gave him a stiff look at this and Dean mentally smacked himself for that statement.

"So what's the point, Dean? The Trickster always has a point. Well, sort of."

"Are we sure this is the Trickster? Could be Zach. Not like there's any shortage for Dick of the Year Award candidates."

Sam thought this over. The weirdness, jumping about, repetition … just seemed very Trickster to him. And he was sure that the lesson was for him. That it's always been for him. _B__ecause this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. You'd think you'd be able to relate. _Except he never thought he was betraying his brother. Disappointing, yes. Disobeying. But it was always about doing the right thing. Everything Sam did … sure it was all wrong, misguided, world endingly stupid … but it was _for_ his brother. Did Dean even know this? Did he ever get past the _Sam is a monster _part of it all?

What was there to be learned from Dean and Cas having a relationship? That it was over for him and his brother? That when Dean said they could never be what they were he then found someone else to fill the void? Maybe not romantically, like in this fantasy world … but the greater point being that Sam was no longer necessary?

"Dude, did you hear something?" Dean asked Sam, just before he heard a creepily familiar voice say, "Turn around … slowly."

Dean did as asked, arms going up at the same time. A menacing green stare floated over him and settled open-eyed on Sam.

"You son of a bitch!"

_Oh no_. This Dean thought Sam was Lucifer. "No, listen, he's not what you—"

"Shut up shapeshifter or whatever you are … What do you want?" This last was said directly to Sam. Sam blinked, confused … his brother was staring at him like he was an enemy. Nothing less than hatred was pouring out of his eyes. He looked back to his Dean who seemed clearly to have a much better clue at what was happening than he did.

Dean met his eyes, whispered, "He thinks you're Lucifer."

"What?! Why would he think that?"

"Because Sam said yes, that's why," the very menacing Dean answered. "Now, I'm gonna ask you just one more time. What do you want?"

Cas appeared behind the other Dean. Put a hand gently on the double's shoulder. Dean stared pointedly at the angel in the hopes of conveying that everything was not as it seemed.

"Whoa …" the angel said. "Two of you … yum."

Cas got dual angry glares. Sam was too busy reeling at what this future Dean just said to care about any perverted angel fantasies. He said yes? Here in 2014? And Dean knew this? "I said yes?! And you were going to tell me about this when?" he blasted the brother he knew.

"Sam … it's not … Zach set all this up. I didn't know if it was real or not and it didn't seem …" He paused at the betrayed look in Sam's eyes. "I should have told you. I just didn't want to … You're carrying enough guilt, Sam. But I'm sorry. You're right, I should have told you."

The other Dean seemed to be catching on slowly. "Who are you? Cas … is that Lucifer?"

Cas looked at Sam with a penetrating gaze. "No. That's Sam."

Dean watched his own face go pale, eyes locked on the face of his younger brother like he was struggling to believe. He remembered the pain he'd seen in those same eyes the last time he was here … which he guessed hadn't happened yet given this Dean's ignorance of who he was.

"_Sammy_." Sam was in the arms of his older brother being squeezed to within an inch of his life and for a moment he didn't know what to do. He was still angry, still trying to understand how his brother could have kept all this from him, but the Dean holding him was trembling and after a second he surrendered and hugged back.

He met the eyes of his brother over the shoulder of this other brother and saw the same warmth reflected back.

Cas approached the younger Dean and invaded his space. "I'd forgotten how beautiful you were."

Dean met the angel's blue stare with a touch of awe at the devotion he found in them. The words started to swirl around him again … bits flashing before his eyes. _**Hard … touch … lick … more …**_ _**harder … please … love you …**_ "SAM … it's starting again."

Sam pulled out of his brother's grip. Read the words as they circled his head in a swift circuit. "Dean, Cas loves you."

"What?!"

"That's it. That's all it ever was, ever is. He loves you."

Dean looked at Sam in abject confusion. Sam sighed. "Just know that."

And Buffy the Vampire Slayer stood in front of them twirling Mister Pointy. "Well if it isn't the Hardy Boys. Look, if we're gonna slay some vamps and still get home in time for me to do my nails then follow me, keep your heads low and stop being all bickery … okay? 'Cause really, I have enough of that with Dawn. Don't need the instant replay – boy version."

"Sam?"

"Yeah, I see her, too."

"She's real?"

Sam shrugged. Real wasn't what it used to be. He looked around for an indication of what this story would be when suddenly she shouted. "Down." He ducked as a strangely ugly vampire brushed past his shoulder and threw a punch at the petite woman. She leapt aside and spun fast, leg out, caught the fang in the throat and sent it reeling. From beside him an impressed Dean uttered, "Awesome."

The vamp lay spread-eagled on the ground and the relentless Slayer straddled it between her thighs, stake held above its chest. "Last words?" she asked. "How about … 'poof'," and she plunged the stake into its heart. It dissolved into a spray of dust.

Dean couldn't help but admire her curves as she dusted herself off. _Hot_ did not begin to cover her. And hey, how freakin' convenient was this dust business? When he and Sam had to deal with fangs their damn blood got over everything, even seeped into his pores. Here all you needed was a dust vac.

"Uh, Buffy," Dean began. "When are we? You still dating that Angel dude? Tell me you haven't hooked up yet with the Sid Vicious look-alike … If you want my advice, you'll stay away from that creep. Although, he was still better than Angel."

Sam turned to stare at him. "Dean, you know all this how?"

"What? Was a good show. I watched it sometimes, you know, when we weren't hunting."

For all that she was a foot shorter than Sam, Buffy went toe-to-toe with the two of them. "How do you know so much about me? Is there a Slayer's Daily News press service I'm not aware of?"

Dean gave one of his female-melting smiles. "I just like to know about the alpha in town."

Boy, she had great eyes. "And that's what I am, the alpha. What's that make you two?"

"Leaving," Sam answered for the both of them. Dean turned to give him the stink eye but he ignored it and pulled on his brother's sleeve.

"What's the rush, Sam, we just got here."

"Dean …"

Buffy looked between them and laughed. Then she tugged Dean down to bring his forehead against hers. "Sorry, Shorty … you can have him back later. Right now, he's mine." With this she proceeded to lock lips with Dean and well, pretty much inhale him.

Sam looked up at the night sky. What the hell, Gabriel? So the lesson was that Dean is freaking irresistible to men, angels and women, equally? He looked back at the make-out session. Of course, Dean was completely engrossed. Sam turned around _he was so not watching_ and faced the quiet graveyard. A shadow … At first he thought it was more words materializing but it wasn't alphabet shaped, rather all male and large and with a head like a cabbage … cripes.

A quick glance showed that Dean had Buffy pushed up against a tree and her legs were starting to ride up his hips and … No point in trying to get their attention. He picked up Buffy's discarded stake and faced the approaching menace. It came at him, fast and strong, but he had speed and way more experience on his side. They tumbled together across the grass and Sam tried to get purchase with Mister Pointy but the vamp was slippery and kept shifting its torso out of the kill zone. They were up again and it tried once more to overpower Sam, both hands going for his neck but Sam twisted around and elbowed it in the ribs, then smacked the stake across its face. As it teetered backward Sam reversed direction with the weapon and staked the creature so hard that it disintegrated before its body even reached the ground.

He heard clapping behind him. "Not bad, Shorty."

Sam couldn't help but grin. Dean looked at him, returning the smirk. "Nice to see you have my back."

The grin fell from Sam's face and he stared at Dean. Was this in question? Did Dean not think this any longer?

With a final kiss Dean pulled away from Buffy and returned to stand next to Sam. He eyed the dust covering his brother's shirt thinking again how very tidy this all was. Sam was looking at him with questioning eyes but Dean didn't know what he wanted. His eyes still on Dean, Sam handed the stake back to Buffy. "Dean, I'll … always have your back."

"I know that, Sam."

"Aww. You two just turn me into a girl," Buffy cooed from behind them. "Oh look. Pretty floaty things. Looks like homework. Wouldn't it be torture to have homework follow you around like that?"

She reached out to touch the words with her fingertips. They fractured and rearranged. "Ooo, big words … clavicle … is that like an icicle? Says Sam wants to lick it. I could go for ices. Who's in?"

Sam read quickly, felt his stomach start to churn right before his body tightened like a drum and _burned_.

Dean stared up into his brother's face, above his by only about two inches, and thought if this went one second further they'd need years of therapy. Maybe even centuries. The story's words floated by, the black momentarily blocking out his brother's hungry gaze. _**It happened the same way every time. With the thought, **_**wrong**_**. Except the word was immediately drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of **_**right**_**. Because no matter where they went, what they fought, how bad it hurt … Dean was home. Sam leaned down and brought his mouth tight against Dean's clavicle and licked him there and up and around until he started to hear those little moans that travelled straight to his groin, to his heart. Because when they were like this, skin to skin, tongue to tongue, soul to soul, evil could never touch them. Like this, his brother was his, was part of him and nobody could ever take him away again.**_

Sam felt Dean shifting uncomfortably beneath him and thought, no, don't do this, don't stop wanting me. Tears stinging behind his eyes he pulled back first because as a child he'd learned to pull the band-aid off quick himself.

"Sam … snap out of it, dude."

"Right. Snap out of it. Just forget … Never mind, you know what, that's fine … I know what I did, knew you'd never be able to forgive me. That it would be different."

Dean watched Sam jump up and pull his tee-shirt on. As to why he hadn't been wearing it in the first place Dean refused to think about. He knew that some of the nut jobs wrote about him and his brother like … _this_ … but it was so twisted he'd never allowed himself to think about it again. Except Sam was acting like it was something he wanted. And the weirdness of that was about to make his brain explode.

He rose and pulled on his own tee-shirt. Sam sat on the desk chair, facing away from him.

"Sammy?"

His brother's shoulders flinched upon hearing his name. "It's okay. You already told me we could never be what we were. I shouldn't have … I'm sorry."

"Sam, we were never … It's the Trickster, remember, making us do these things, feel these things. 'S not real. Never was."

Sam turned then, eyes blazing. "Look … I get it, I do … you don't want to … but don't you dare say that to me. It's real. Been real all my life. Hell, it's the only thing that is real. The rest of it is all like someone else's life."

New words surrounded Dean, dissolving like water colors into his skin. His heart started to pound unnaturally fast. Sam was yelling at him, taunting him. _You're holding me back. You're too busy feeling sorry for yourself, whining about all the souls you tortured in hell. Boo hoo. _And it hurt, a knife wound, fresh and bloody, like Sam'd just said it. Images of broken apologies and _make up sex?!_ flooded him but he'd forgiven Sam, hadn't he?

Sam inhaled deeply, tried to quell the tears. He blinked, things felt fuzzy, confused … his emotions were on overdrive and much of it made no sense, weren't real, like Dean said … except it also _was_. "It's not about sex … I don't know why I … But that doesn't mean it's not … I've known one thing and when it was gone … then nothing was real. You weren't here. I couldn't save you. They didn't want me, I couldn't get you out … And it's like I was … God, Dean, I'm so sorry … "

Dean walked closer, put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Is this about when I … died?"

Sam looked up at Dean incredulously. Could he really not know this? Not understand that watching those invisible beasts shred him to a bloody pulp in front of his eyes ripped his heart out of his chest as surely as it did Dean's? The question hurt so much he thought he'd scream. Tears streaked silently down his face.

Dean pulled Sam against him. He stood still as Sam buried his face in Dean's stomach and wrapped his long arms tight around his lower back. He stroked the back of his little brother's hair. Maybe he'd missed something. In the insanity of suddenly being alive again and Ruby and blood drinking and Lucifer and Michael and everyone wanting a part of them, he'd missed one fuckin' huge thing. Sam needed him. "Sammy, it's okay. I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere. And it's not your fault. Never was."

Sam pulled back abruptly, embarrassed and not quite certain what the heck had come over him. He swiped at his eyes. They were back in their room. The room where it started. Dean met his eyes but said nothing and then a voice made them jump.

"Hi, boys."

Gabriel.

Wariness made Sam's back tense. Why was he here? And would it include hurting Dean again?

"Good read?" the archangel asked.

"What do you want?" Sam asked back.

Gabriel turned his attention to Dean. "Owed you one. For letting me out of the oil circle. Consider us even."

Dean gaped at him. "That's your idea of payback? Our very own looking glass?"

Gabriel laughed, "And you made a very fetching Queen of Hearts."

"Screw you."

Sam touched Dean's sleeve. Angering this dick was never a good idea. Gabriel thought he'd helped them. How? "These stories. What did it mean?"

"It's still going over that Neanderthal head of yours, eh, Sam?"

Sam bitchfaced but Gabriel kept speaking. "Why do you think these people write these stories?"

Dean answered, "Because they read Chuck's books."

"Well, yes, obviously that's how they learned about you two, through the Prophet. But so what? Read some scary books. There are lots of those and most of them are better written. Why do they care? What do they see?"

Dean looked down, it was hard to talk about this, all those people knowing his personal life – even though they didn't know he was real. Always felt invasive. But those guys, Demian and Barnes, they were alright. "The guys at the book convention, they said that their lives sucked. But ours … trying to save the world. Having a brother who would … die for you. They said, 'who wouldn't want that?'"

Dean had never told his brother this. Maybe he should have.

Sam swallowed the lump that suddenly formed high in his throat. He looked at Gabriel.

"Maybe it's too late for my family. But hopefully it's not for yours," Gabriel said softly. "See ya around boys." And he vanished.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, head still spinning. He sensed Dean plop down on his own bed and looked over to meet his brother's eyes.

"I'm starting to understand him," Sam admitted. "Don't quite know if that's good or bad."

Dean chuckled. Understood. "I think … And I really never thought I'd be saying this … But, I think he's on our side."

Sam rose, he needed to splash cold water on his face. "That's good. You're going to need every advantage you can possibly have when it comes to fighting Lucifer."

"Got what I need right here," Dean said quietly.

Turning around, Sam met his brother's eyes. Something loosened in his chest. He nodded at Dean's steady green gaze and silently thanked an archangel.

"Glad that's settled as long as you understand one very important thing," Dean warned.

"What?"

"There is no way in hell I'm kissing you."

_**f**__**in**_

**A/N: **This story is intended as a gentle tease toward the incredible community of Supernatural fanfiction writers of which I feel privileged to have recently joined. Creativity in all its forms is all good. Your work is nothing but an inspiration.


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